


click click boom

by d__T



Series: Indigo North [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Piquerism, burying a dude, fucking a dude, in that order, insulting a dude, original work because I don't want to embarrass the MM folks with this tbh, shooting a dude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a while since he took the scars across his face and body from Nomad. It's not revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. click click boom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Najanaja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Najanaja/gifts).



To all appearances, Indigo is asleep, sprawled atop the cab of his ute. But when Nomad is done pulling off his helmet, Indigo has sat up and is watching him with keen eyes and a slight smile. The scars from a previous encounter still show on his face and across his chest.

“Nomad. I got something for you!” It’s an enticing smile, and Nomad steps forward, wary.

Quick as a scorpion strike, Indigo pulls the Beretta from where it was hidden among his legs, aims it at Nomad’s head, and pulls the trigger.

The hammer falls with a click, and nothing more.

Indigo laughs.

Nomad unflinches, and pegs his helmet at Indigo with a yell. He scoops a rock from the ground to follow the helmet with but Indigo has slid from his perch to the ground on the far side of the truck. Briefly, he considers denting the truck with the rock, but the finish is already fucked to hell. So he dodges around the truck to hit Indigo with it but comes face to face with the muzzle of the pistol. He skids to a halt.

The pistol is large in Indigo’s relatively small hands, but they’re steady for the first time in a long time and his tone is conversational. “This time, I’m gonna fuck you.”

The displeasure is evident in Nomad’s face. The Nomad doesn’t submit to anyone!

Indigo steps foward and slips the muzzle between the unzipped edges of Nomad’s riding jacket, only to grind it into the soft spot above his stomach, between his ribs. “How much do you want this to hurt?”

Nomad could, perhaps, take the gun from Indigo and turn it on the smaller man. Or draw his piece of shit Glock and take his chances. He has strength, and height on him. But Indigo is fast, and he doesn’t want whatever the fuck it is that gives Indigo the shakes these days to come back while his finger is curled around the trigger.

“You  _cunt!_ ”

“That would be you, not me, mate.” Indigo’s tone is as mild as his smile. He pulls the trigger, and Nomad drops. The blowback settles, tingling red on his hands and arms and the rolled cuffs of his flannel.

Nomad howls, clutching at his new hole and lashing out at Indigo’s legs. Indigo steps aside, where Nomad can’t hit him easily and crouches down to look at him. The gun dangles from his fingers. “You want out now, or later?”

“ _Fuck you!”_  Nomad froths at the mouth and screams at him.

“Fuck  _you_.” The correction is gently underscored by the hot muzzle drawn along his jaw from chin to ear.

Nomad struggles against him as he’s pushed and shoved until he’s sitting up against a tire on the ute. It does him no good; he pants and wheezes against the pain. There, Indigo strips him to the belt with rough urgency.

He’s not struggling so much anymore, hands pressed tight over the crater in his belly and breathing labored under the rolling sheen of blood soaking in under his belt.

Indigo crouches, the Beretta tucked into the back of his belt. He dips one finger into the blood and marks Nomad’s forehead with it like he’s blessing him. He forms a circle around the cross, and drags a line down his nose across his lips to his chin.

“You’re so beautiful like this.”

He wets his finger again and presses it between Nomad’s protesting lips. Teeth close around his finger and Indigo recoils. Nomad hisses and curses as Indigo holds his face and forces his jaw open by pressing his cheek between his teeth. More blood is wiped into his mouth.

“Now you can taste why I fight you when you make me bleed. You’ll die, you know, but it makes you think you could win for a moment.”

Nomad spits when his head is released. Indigo wipes it from himself, tinged red, and slaps him with it.

“See?” Indigo chuckles and undoes his belt, his fly. Nomad’s cursing redoubles. He fights his body, trying to crawl away.

Indigo grabs him by the shoulder and throws him back against the tire. Nomad chokes a scream into a grunt.

Indigo pulls his cock out and is stroking it to hardness with quick tugs of his bloodstained fingers. Nomad sees the cruelty burn clear in his face, and wonders where it was hidden all these years.

He kneels, straddling Nomad’s legs. Hands tip his head back and force his eyes open. “Angel, this is gonna hurt. Move your hands.”

Nomad shakes his head.

Indigo moves his hands for him then, wraps one hand tight around Nomad’s wrists, and holds them against the metal of the truck. Then he rises, takes the strain of his weight in his thighs just to feel it for a moment _._  He presses forward until the head of his cock slides around the hot wet of the entrance wound and Nomad tries to curse him and twist away.

But he’s pinned underneath Indigo by gravity, by his own body. Indigo pets his hair, and then presses forward again. Aim true this time, the glans is not permitted by the far-too-small hole but he pushes against it anyway with a delighted expression on his face.

He pulls away, pulls the knife from his pocket and flips it open. Guided by clever fingers, the blade makes several crude widening cuts along the hole.

Nomad screams.

“Shh, angel.” His hand leaves bloody streaks in his hair. “You’re being so good to me.”

The knife drops from Indigo’s hand to rest beside them. Nomad’s calculating that he can grab it and take Indigo with him, but when he goes to yank his hands free from Indigo’s grasp he’s got nothing left. He’s too drained. 

Now his cock fits properly, and Indigo is pleased. He fucks into the gory wound with short sharp strokes. Eyes fallen shut, hair perpetually falling from its tie, the sound of his panting barely covers the noises of flesh and blood.

Indigo pulls free with a sick wet sound and jacks himself rapidly over Nomad’s chest. He comes thickly, spurts smeared slick across damp skin.

He falls back onto his haunches, almost sitting on Nomad’s lap again. Nomad stares back at him, glassy and unresponsive.

In a moment, he closes Nomad’s eyes and leans forward to kiss the mark on his forehead.


	2. take your remembrance and leave

He puts Nomad’s body next to his bike in the bed of the truck. By a rock outcropping, the red marks faded and painted over in other hands, he buries Nomad and pulls over a boulder that has only one symbol in only one hand on it to mark the grave.

It takes him a week, listless dusks spent with his hands pressed to his head before he finds a station house. At the door, he is greeted with suspicion by a curly haired man, his twin looking on from inside the house. He gives them the bike but not his name, and leaves.


	3. the one where he lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where Indigo doesn't kill Nomad

To all appearances, Indigo is asleep, sprawled atop the cab of his ute. But when Nomad is done pulling off his helmet, Indigo has sat up and is watching him with keen eyes and a slight smile.

“Nomad. I got something for you!” It’s an enticing smile, and Nomad steps forward, wary.

Quick as a scorpion strike, Indigo pulls the Beretta from where it was hidden among his legs, aims it at Nomad’s head, and pulls the trigger.

The hammer falls with a click, and nothing more.

Indigo laughs.

Nomad unflinches, and pegs his helmet at Indigo with a yell. He scoops a rock from the ground to follow the helmet with but Indigo has slid from his perch to the ground on the far side of the truck. Briefly, he considers denting the truck with the rock, but the finish is already fucked to hell. So he dodges around the truck to hit Indigo with it but comes face to face with the muzzle of the pistol. He skids to a halt.

The pistol is large in Indigo’s relatively small hands, but they’re steady and his tone is conversational. “This time, I’m gonna fuck you.”

The displeasure is evident in Nomad’s face. The Nomad doesn’t submit to anyone!

Indigo steps forward and slips the muzzle between the unzipped edges of Nomad’s riding jacket, only to grind it into the soft spot above his stomach, between his ribs. “How much do you want this to hurt?”

Nomad could, perhaps, take the gun from Indigo and turn it on the smaller man. Or draw his piece of shit Glock and take his chances. He has strength, and height on him. But Indigo is fast, and he doesn’t want whatever the fuck it is that usually gives Indigo the shakes to come back while his finger is curled around the trigger.

“You  _cunt!_ ”

“Not today, angel.” Indigo’s tone is as mild as his smile. He pulls the trigger, and Nomad flinches. Indigo laughs.

Nomad shoves him, done with Indigo’s playing. Indigo skitters back and he can feel acutely the angular weight of the loaded magazine in his tight jeans’ pocket. His palms burn with the desire to load it, pull the slide, and drop Nomad. Just to see. Just to taste it and satisfy that itch.

Instead, he lunges and slams the barrel of the gun across Nomad’s face, laying open a streak of blood. It almost matches the scar across his own face. Hands reach for him, trying to pin him, take the Beretta from him. He dodges, and drives Nomad up against the tailgate of the ute. The metal clangs as he hits and scuffs against it.

He presses his momentary advantage by driving his knee high between Nomad’s legs. It forces the man up, off balance. Nevertheless, Nomad curses him and slams him in the face with his knuckles. But it’s not his full strength, not yet.

Indigo rolls it off and presses his hand against Nomad’s belly, the angles of the pistol sharp against him. The other tugs his belt loose.

“Stay put.”

Nomad balks. “Put the gun away.”

Indigo removes his hand from inside Nomad’s pants and pulls the slide on the gun.

“Stay. Put.”

Nomad scowls and huffs but stays for Indigo to put his hand back down his pants again.

“Get it out an’ jack me.”

Indigo does, and Nomad grins wildly at his victory.

“Sweetie,  _yeah_!”

Indigo rewards him with a smile, he  _loves_  praise. "Hey, turn around for me.”

Nomad protests until Indigo digs the Beretta into the cut of his hip. Then he turns slowly, the muzzle never leaving his skin. “ _Good_.” He pushes Nomad’s legs apart, presses his body tight against him until he’s forced to lean against the ute.

“Shit,  _no_. I don’t do that.”

“Really?” Indigo holds him, trapped between his dick and the gun at his throat. And grinds his hardness against that fine arse.

“Angel, you’re gonna be so tight. I wanna be in you. I’m gonna be in you.”

Nomad tenses and flexes under him. Indigo digs the muzzle in so hard he can feel the man swallow through the shift in the flesh under the pistol. His voice shifts from aroused to cold in a word. “You were doing so well.  _Don’t._ ”

One handed, he fumbles his cock out and presses it hot and hard against him. Nomad pulls away, but there’s nowhere to go.

Indigo’s fingers find the magazine in his pocket first and it’s so hot, so desirable to load the gun properly that his breath hitches momentarily. But he forces himself to pass it over, pulling free the lube instead.

Nomad curses and struggles at the first finger. “Ah, hush. You’ll be fine.”

Nomad doesn’t stop, efforts renewed with the second finger.

“Or! I could fuck you with this.” He twitches the gun against Nomad’s throat and that freezes him.

“Wouldn’t like that at all, would you- Oh, oh fuck. Angel.”

He’s slick, he’s so hot and Nomad’s taking him in despite all the cursing and squirming.

Nomad gets a moment to adjust, make it easier on himself. Not used to this particular kind of pain and pleasure like Indigo is. But Indigo is impatient now; he’s in him and he’s so very tight and hot.

Finger pressed tight along the trigger guard, he fucks that tight ring. Slowly at first, taking his sweet pleasure and finding out where Nomad can be made to twitch and groan. And then hard when he has the measure of the man under him, breath hot and damp against his back.

“Angel. Fuck, oh, you’re so good to me.”

“’m going to fucking kill you.” Nomad growls and twists as Indigo forces his head forward with the muzzle of the gun pressed high against his spine.

Indigo wonders if he’d notice if he pulled the trigger, wasted a click and gave up the game that the gun wasn’t loaded. “Oh, but you won’t. You need me.”

Denial, again. Indigo reaches around and tugs and strokes Nomad’s cock, thick but not hard in his hand. But it becomes stiff under his touch. Nomad hisses, angry.

“Shh, come on. Or do you want it like you give it to me?”

“ _no._ ”

In a moment, Indigo has Nomad coming, dripping from his hand and spattered on the tailgate of the ute.

“Fuck. Yeah, angel,  _good_.”

He follows Nomad a few harsh thrusts later, slick flesh slapped together as he pumps into him.

Nomad’s just beginning to untense as the smaller man pulls away a little, but then Indigo slides the muzzle up under his ear and pulls the trigger. The hammer falls with a click. Riding out Nomad’s convulsion, he whispers into his ear, slick and sweet. “Boom.”


	4. Grinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can not believe I didn't properly publish this?
> 
> noncon, face stabbery, general scumfuckery
> 
> This is revenge.

"Griena."

Indigo leers.

"Grinner."

"How did you get that name, angel? You scowl  _so much_. Yer face'll get stuck that way."

He runs the flat of the knife along Nomad's cheek. Nomad shies away. Indigo tsks.

"It would be such a shame. You've a nice face."

He tucks a knee up under Nomad's chin, tips his head back. If he'd used force, he could have broken the man's neck, mashed his skull against the metal. But it's gentle, even as he looms over Nomad.

Indigo can feel Nomad swallow against the press of his knee. He could crush that vulnerable throat.

He drips the words down onto Nomad. "Such a  _shame_."

Indigo presses the tip of the knife against Nomad's cheek. It gouges and leaks. "Say yes."

He can't shake his head without impaling himself.

" _No._ "

His jaws separate from their stubborn grimace to wrap around that vowel. Indigo jams the knife through the gap. It catches on the first serration, presses down across his tongue bloody and wet.

Nomad grunts, and freezes. Blue eyes stare up at him. Indigo smiles down at him. He saws the knife back and forth widening the slit. Nomad tries to bite it, stop it.

His teeth slip on the blade.

"Good, good."

There is such hatred in Nomad's eyes. He thinks he might come to regret leaving Nomad alive at the end of this. But he wants to send Nomad back to his mates with his face ripped out.

It's only fair.

For a moment, he considers putting his cock through the slit. A custom hole. It's enticing, but Nomad will bite.

Settling, though, is no hardship. He forces the serrations through raw muscle. Nomad makes an incoherent angry noise, an incoherent betrayed noise when Indigo grips his cock through his pants. Fingers leave a dark stain when he moves to undo his zipper.

But he has a better idea. He pulls Nomad's head close with the knife and puts the tab between his teeth. Nomad tries to spit it back, and Indigo bops him on top of his head. It grinds his teeth shut on all the metal, and his face flexes involuntarily around the blade.

He pushes, and Nomad moves so smoothly with it.

"Yeah, jus' like that."

The tab pulls from between Nomad's lips, flecks them with bloody saliva.

It's not messy yet. The wound drools but the knife is mostly stopping the wound. He twists the knife a little, and Nomad bites down on it.

"nuh-uh. Don't do that."

Nomad growls.

"Alright."

Indigo knees him in the chest. Nomad coughs out his air. Indigo twists the knife, locks it sharp side up between Nomad's teeth.

"Not what you wanted?"

He pulls the knife like he's going to remove it, and it cuts against the taught distorted flesh. But not all the way, the raised corner of the spine catches between Nomad's teeth.

He's perfect, bleeding and wild eyed and immobile. Indigo presses his cock between those parted lips. When he rocks back, it's slick and stained with blood.

"Use your tongue, fuckwit. And I won't cut all the way through."

"Ah, fuck. Yeah, angel, like that."

Indigo twists the knife up, tipping it so it gouges the point into the roof of Nomad's mouth. Nomad whines deep in his throat.

"Hush now."

He makes his thrust deeper, lands the head of his cock in the back of Nomad's throat where he can't try to shove it against the knife. This is the wettest thing he's ever fucked, almost too wet but it slops from the distorted slit.

It runs down his chin, drips onto his chest and stains his clothing.

Nomad chokes, tries to swallow, tries to not rip his own face apart. He aspirates blood instead, tries not to cough. He bites down instinctually, and cringes when the knife skips and finds the gap between two teeth and forces them apart.

"Hey now." Indigo makes his voice tender, but lust and malice ride clearer in his tone.

He lets Nomad break himself free of the vicious cycle of trying to swallow the blood in his mouth, inhaling it instead, and trying to cough it out. His hands leave bloody streaks in Nomad's hair, slicking it back and dark.

But that's all he gets before Indigo thrusts deep again. It's all for himself, wet and hot and grinding Nomad's nose into his dark coarse hair. And soon he shudders and spills across Nomad's tongue.

When he pulls out and away, tugs the knife free from where it jammed between teeth, Nomad's head tips forward and the mess of cum and blood slides from between his teeth. It drips and runs, stains his skin and clothes.

Indigo squats in front of him, bloody softening cock hanging out. He grips Nomad's chin and tips his head up again. And now his voice is just cruel.

"You want to get off? You want me to shove a fist up your ass?"

He makes a fist where Nomad can see it.

"You can take it."

Nomad shakes his head against the hand holding it.

"Fuck off."

It bubbles, crass and drippy.

Indigo laughs, and shoves him away.

He releases him from the tie town hooks, but leaves his hands and feet bound. Nomad struggles, but Indigo kicks him down, and then shoves him along the bed of the ute until he rolls off the tailgate with a thud.

Indigo looks down over him.

"Alright."

"Oh, right." He drops the knife beside Nomad. "You'll be fine."


End file.
